


You don't mind breaking the law?

by TheKats



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, I do know an awful lot about toilets now though.., Kissing, Lots of kissing, M/M, Oil as Lube, Secret Relationship, Victorian Attitudes, Victorian Vocabulary, mostly exploring their relationship really, no real plot, when I can find it in myself without having to do too much research
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-12-24 17:12:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12017328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKats/pseuds/TheKats
Summary: Holmes is a mischievous little ruffian. Watson secretly likes his indiscretions.Update: I have changed course for this fic. It will not be a chronologically told story, but instead a gathering of chapters on their time together.





	1. Concert Tickets aka Wooing Watson

**Author's Note:**

> So, I love Granada Holmes. More than anything. BBC-who? Never heard of her.  
> Anyways, there aren't NEARLY enough Granada Holmes fanfics on here. I intend to change that.  
> Embrace our gay Victorian boys.  
> If marriage between two men had been legal back then, they'd be the original married couple.
> 
> Seriously, if you haven't watched Granada Holmes yet, do it now. If you have, do it again.

The great detective was emerging one of his great silences, stretching his long arms far above his head with a luxurious sigh. He pursed his lips, then gave an impassive smile just to wake the muscles in his face back to the present. Mrs Hudson was buzzing about the room, dusting off numerous surfaces. “I take it active energy hasn't a grip on your bones today?”  
  
Her question was fair, he had hardly moved at all today. He'd awoken to the sounds of Watson leaving for his practice and not been in the mood for activity. Besides having breakfast, the only real trips he had made were to the WC and to the armchair, which he was currently occupying still. Not even the cheek tone in her voice could rouse him to display any emotion other than utter boredom. “Quite so, Mrs Hudson. It is a very dull day, indeed.” He rolled his head along the back of the chair and thought ahead to the evening when his companion was to return after these God-many hours. “Oh, incidentally, Dr Watson and I were rather hoping to spend the night more intimately.”  
  
Mrs Hudson didn't flinch at his roundabout way of telling her to keep downstairs and cease her fussing about their rooms. “I shall leave supper by the door then?”  
  
“Oh, I am not sure we shall need it. Do inquire Dr Watson, when he returns, whether he will require food.”  
  
“Very well, sir. Is that all for the moment?”  
  
“Yes, that will be all. You may leave.” With his gaze adrift, he never saw her look of exasperation as she ducked out of the room. He didn't have to. Over the years, he had come to know her well enough to expect it. She was, after all, one of the rare women whose spirit challenges expectation. At times, some would call her impertinent for her quipped replies and unwomanly sarcasm. Perhaps she reminded him a little too much of some of the women in his own familial circles.  
Holmes retrieved and regarded his pocket watch to find that Watson would still be another two hours. Another sigh escaped him, this time not a luxurious savouring of the moment, but rather resignation to the cruel ways of the universe and its outrageous laziness regarding an increase in the speed of time's progression. He stretched his limbs to work out the little kinks, then resumed his position, hands steepled under his chin, and wandered back off into his memory palace, where minutes progressed at an alternative pace.  
  
It wasn't until Watson entered the same room, that he next awoke. Mind, he did not come to instantly. Watson had greeted him twice. “Evening Holmes,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “Holmes?” he said again, standing by the windows to draw the curtains, a reasonably enough action at this time of the day, and to a good use nonetheless. When the detective still did not react, Watson went to face him in his chair. A fond smile breached his lips at the sight of his sleeping friend, which could be a hard one to come by at times. He shook his head fondly. Usually he would not approve of the laziness displayed in the figure before him, however in recent days they had been about rather a lot and he had hoped that Holmes would be taking some time to recover himself. However, they _were_ engaged this evening and the few nights they did save for one another, he did not want to let pass by. So, he leaned in, his hands bracing against the back of the chair as his mouth came by Holmes' ear. “Sherlock,” he murmured lowly.  
  
This gained a reaction from Holmes, who, as his mind emerged from its deep state of meditation, answered with a low hum before registering the entirety of the situation. At first he was mildly shocked by Watson's face being so close to his own, then he mirrored his smile and happily shared a kiss. “Have you asked Mrs Hudson to bring supper tonight?” he asked as soon as there came space between them again. His hand glid along the side of Watson's clothed arm.  
  
“Yes, I have. I am positively famished after my day at the practice. The recent outbreak of the flu is keeping me on my feet, I have not had a proper break.” His hand came up to caress his friend's cheek. “I have it come up around eight tonight.”  
  
“It is just as well. The timing is, in fact, ideal. It will be right in between rounds.” Holmes replied with a sly grin. To Watson's display of exasperation, he answered just as confidently. “Oh, don't play coy now, my dear. You have said worse to me.”  
  
As his grin spread, Watson closed his eyes suppressing a great many reactions on his face. “I _was_ rather hoping we would do something tonight.”  
  
“Oh, John, there will be plenty of action for the both of us.” Holmes' grin was met with one very levelled one by Watson. He gave in. “Also, I do have a surprise for you.” Holmes raised his hand, in which he had held, for several hours now, two slips of paper. He held them out in the small distance between their bodies and Watson grasped them, studying them intently.  
  
His face lit up brightly. “You bought tickets for that play!”  
  
Holmes smiled briefly, but genuinely. “You seemed interested in it, so I thought we might go Friday night?”  
  
“Oh, very happily!” The exclamation was followed by a bright and earnest smile on the doctor's behalf. Holmes expressed the same just with his eyes. “Thank you, Sherlock.”  
Holmes' eyes flickered down to Watson's lips as if to suggest a better method of showing his gratitude. As if he could read minds, like he so often had accused Holmes of doing, he pressed his mouth gently against his partner's once again. “Now,” he whispered as he made a few inches space between them, “won't you join me on the chaise longue?”  
  
“I should be much obliged.” With a wicked grin, he let Watson guide him over. The tickets to the theatre were left on the small table as they moved the little distance. They made themselves comfortable, Holmes sliding in between the other man's legs. He caressed Watson's face, stroking his slight, short curls back into a smoother line. A day's work always untangled the stubborn strings, especially at his temples. Watson, knowing Holmes for quite some years, could tell his friend was again thinking much more than feeling, calculating which way to best entertain him this night. A grin split his lips and he drew Holmes' head near, attempting to stop the brainwork with a passionate kiss. Indeed, Holmes moaned in response. After some time of their lips moving, Holmes pushed his tongue forward, drew it along Watson's mouth until he was granted entrance. It was shortly after that he began to move his hips as well, grinding his swelling erection along Watson's own. Their breaths became ragged. “We  should undress, do you not think?”  
They sat up, each picking at the other's waistcoats, neckties, pushing aside braces, unbuttoning shirts and finally pulling their vests off, hardly ever breaking contact between their mouths. So they sat, half naked, Watson nearly in Holmes' lap, with his legs bracing Holmes' hips in a now less comfortable manner. Holmes' slender fingers slid across his chest, playing with his hair there like a delicate instrument. He himself travelled with his fingertips down Holmes' abdomen, slotting behind the rim of his trousers and wandering them to where they could unfasten them. A luxurious sigh sounded through Watson and into the kiss when his partner, in response, reached for his crotch, massaging the sensitive flesh through layers of fabric.  
  
“What shall it be today?” Watson asked, trailing his fingers around Holmes' erect member, making a point of teasing his partner, muscles twitching from the light stimulation and his desire pulsating with the longing for Watson's touch to shift just an inch further inwards. Holmes answered this with silence and movement, quickly switching their positions to sit instead in Watson's lap. He canted his hips forward, making his intentions quite clear.  
“Don't make yourself too comfortable. We will need...” Watson's speech slowed down as Holmes bent down sideways to produce a vial from beneath the piece furniture they were occupying at the present. “You have planned this all along, haven't you?”  
  
Holmes gave a dismissive expression, then he smiled. “I simply know my Watson.” He pressed his face into the crook of Watson's neck, working his mouth across the skin there.  
  
“You mean you know my impatience in the matter.” Watson replied, grinning.  
  
“Yes. Whenever have we made it to bed when we weren't already in it?” Holmes leaned his forehead against Watson's, his lips split in a smile so big, it was a rare sight even to his friend.  
  
The doctor laid off the temptation to capture that side with his own lips until he had spoken again. “I would claim regret, but alas, I do not.”  
  
In a matter of minutes, they were completely undressed, Watson cradling Holmes' head as he laid him down on his back with another kiss. His hand, the one which wasn't supporting his weight, travelled down Holmes' side, dipping into every little hollow between his ribs until, finally, he grasped his hip by the bone, lifting it with Holmes' own effort as help, and placing one of the cushions underneath. Holmes watched hungrily as his partner poured some oil from the vial into his hand, smearing it around one palm with the tips of his fingers, coating them on all sides before drawing them around his destination to encourage relaxation. One finger pushed inside and his slicked palm closed around Holmes' penis, pulling in gentle, long strokes. When he was sure enough, Watson added a little more oil and inserted a second finger. The calm and peaceful that Holmes had felt before started to vanish, but the pain he felt from the added stretch was only temporarily without further pleasure. He pulled Watson's head down to him.  
When at last Watson was satisfied Holmes was thoroughly prepared, he retrieved his fingers and let go of the other man's erection, pouring more oil to coat his own. He pressed inside slowly, gently, very conscious of the pain in Holmes' scrunched up face.

  
“Nearly there, nearly there,” he breathed, restraining any more unsavoury noises.  
  
“It seems to be getting easier each time.” It was merely a whisper from Holmes, but it carried as much weight as anything said out loud.  
  
“Dare I say you are getting used to it?”  
  
“You may.”  
  
They shared a fond grin and shortly after, Holmes let him know that he was good to continue. Watson rocked them back and forth on the tiny space that was the chaise longue. It wasn't long until Holmes began to moan his pleasure into Watson's mouth. With a closer look, he could see the flutter of Holmes' lids, his eyes rolled back. His hand grabbed the doctor's shoulder, the other hanging on to the furniture, and he dug in his short nails, over and over with each tilt of his hips by his partner's doing.  
For minutes they basked in each others embrace, sharing the slow, trusted swing of their bodies together, sealed at the lips and conversing in unintelligible noises understood only by the other man. It wasn't rare, these days, that they got to share this with one another. It had taken some time to feel confident in the secrecy, but now they had made this place their own and they revelled in it. There wasn't many a place they were legal to share their affections and beside private room at the Turkish baths, 221B Baker Street was their safest place to be, a haven in a world much more ignorant than them. Holmes had always been an eccentrically modern man, but the public mistakenly continued to underestimate Watson. Holmes could appreciate him and in return, he found comfort and reassurance in Watson. Their hearts full of each other and their bodies aflame with passion, intercourse never detained them for terribly long. It was just as well – they each preferred the calm that came after the storm to the one before it. So they tipped over together; Watson stopping in his movements and Holmes curling around him as release pulsed through them both.  
Their couplings always left them with a peace not long lasting, but constantly desired. They spent the effort to swap positions so that the thinner man Holmes could lay atop his partner, his ear pressed to the doctor's chest. Capable hands roamed over his lean back as he himself caressed the knotted flesh of Watson's wounded shoulder.  
So the lay, on the too small furniture, embracing the flutter of their hearts in the quiet of their sitting room.

 


	2. Old age and wise minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Retirement turns out to be easier planned than done for a constantly working mind. Watson knows how to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but sweet. It came to me as I was sat in uni and I originally scribbled the beginning of it on a receipt from our uni's library. Oops!

With a swipe of the hand that offending strand of hair was not to be tamed. Lime cream also failed doing its job. Nothing appeared to have the power needed to rule in the rebellious black curl. It looked absolutely ridiculous, or it did to Holmes, the way that it stuck out, touching his forehead only once on its loop inward.  
He saw his friend appear in the mirror only a second before his fond laughter sounded. “Laughing at another's despair, are we now? I believe the Germans have a word for that.”

 

Watson was unfazed by this accusation and well aware Holmes knew exactly the word. “It is 'Schadenfreude' and you have accused me of that already last week, when I 'took pleasure of your misery' with the discovery of your trousers ceasing to do up.” With a wide smile he strode to his side. One finger he reached up and twisted in the greying threads.

 

Holmes beat it away. “Stop it, you'll encourage the wretched thing!” he said demandingly, holding Watson's hand tight in his, however.

 

“Do you mind it that much? I think it is rather endearing. It rather suits your person.”

 

“It is ridiculous. Is there anything that will remain unchanged?”

 

“With age? I am afraid very little will. For instance, I have never perceived you as being so vain.” With his free hand Watson reached up and cupped Holmes' cheek. “What makes you so insecure so suddenly? You do not think I will abandon my position by your side, surely.”

 

“No, no. Nothing of the kind.” Holmes leans into the caress with a sigh.

 

“Foolish old boy,” Watson answered with a fond tut. “It is precisely that, is it not?”

 

Holmes returned his gaze with a stern eye, attempting to diffuse the question in Watson's very brain. However the good doctor was used to these methods and unimpressed, set on the matter. “Oh, I don't know what is the matter with me.” Holmes clipped defensively and with great annoyance. 

 

“Well, I think you just as handsome as the day we met.”

 

Again Holmes tutted, but this time it was plain as day that his frustration was getting the better of him. “Don't be ridiculous, it is not about my appearance. Not at all.” A deep sigh was let out and it came to Watson that this would require some delicate treatment. “John... Would you say that I am losing my cunning?”

 

“You don't fear for your body but for your brain. Humm.. I would suggest you are no less clever than I ever knew you.” Watson squeezed the hand with which Holmes was still holding his, the other he lowered to lay on his hip, beginning to rock them both gently to no detectable rhythm. “At least, if your capacities were to decline, then mine should ever be one step ahead. You will always be wiser than this stupid old man.”

 

Holmes now returned the smile on his partner's lips, though his own was more of gratitude than the cheek of Watson's. “You are a great many things, but, my darling, you were never stupid! Safe perhaps when you chose to stay with a ruffian like me.”

 

“And I have yet to regret that for even one second.” The short silence between Watson's confession and the following kiss was one filled with love and admiration expressed by the bare force of a look into another's eyes. When their lips once more parted ways, Holmes held Watson's face in both hands. “It is not a small task laying aside years of activity and settling for retirement. It will take time getting used to it, especially for you. But I am here, by your side, always, to help you through it. In the meantime, try not to let your changing physicality dishearten you. Old age flatters you so much!” Making a point of his statement, Watson squeezed a bit of skin on Holmes' hip through the fabric of his shirt. The result was a disbelieving but fond chuckle out of the retired detective and aspiring bee-keeper. 

 


	3. How it came to be I

It is not my usual fancy writing in prose, however the good man asked me to contribute to his private collections of our adventures in my own hand and there has rarely been a day that I could refuse one of his requests. In his interest, I will recall the events not just as precise as is my usual habit, but also with the touch of romanticism and dramatics that come so naturally to him and have given me many opportunities to frown so very fondly on him.

And so, to begin our story.   
Watson an myself were sitting together for breakfast on a grey and rainy Sunday morning. His eyes were focused upon the fantastical stories printed in the newspaper. I myself was enjoying a rather luxurious choice amount of breakfast. It was, until this point, promising to be a quiet, enjoyable morning, with the rain providing a rather musical undertone of melancholic atmosphere. My good friend, however was never one to appreciate the English weathers and so sought every distraction from the noise that he could find. At times, it did enough to not acknowledge it, but on that day, no such simple solution seemed to him to be satisfactory.

 

He spoke at large. “'Lady Elizabeth Garner, whom has been a widow of Sir Jonathan Garner, has passed due to natural causes.' Holmes! Was it not the same Lady Elizabeth Garner that we helped out in the matter of The Torn Lapel?”

 

“I do seem to recall that name and also your account on the case, yes.” I remember it today like I did back then. A trivial affair, but with a number of interesting points that are best told in Watson's words.

 

“What a shame about her bad fate. Did you not think her a most remarkable woman? Such strength and confidence. And very beautiful, too!”

 

“The fair sex is your department, Watson.”

 

“So you keep saying, yes.” At that moment, he was no doubt mulling over all our exchanges, my little remarks and those times where I did not think to take care in my choice of words. “Come to think of it, I have not once heard you compliment a woman's appearance in words not cited from another's mouth!”

 

“Is that so? I had not noticed.” Naturally, this was a lie. I cannot claim to speak the truth if I said to have ever held the slightest interest in a woman romantically. When I observe her body, it was ever purely for practical reasons, such as deducing her affairs or assessing an abusive man in her life. Saying it like that, however, did not seem a wise thing to do to me at the time, so I made few adjustments. “However, it is not and has never been in my interest to see a body in light of its aesthetics. My observations are driven by intention, and that is to see through and solve crime.”

 

For a while, Watson was silent and I dared not to look up at him. I could hear by the absence of noise from his paper, that he was still contemplating this topic and anything in his memory, which might serve him as addition to it. When he did raise his voice again, his tone was gentle and careful. “You have described men under another excuse.” Very, very slowly, as if he expected I might jump to his throat, he lowered the paper and looked at me directly. I felt his gaze for a long moment before seeing it with my own eyes. He was calm, his expression as open and welcoming as ever I knew it. In times such as these I had troubles recalling the man he could also be under the right influences, though he never seized to be a man of great morals and justice. “There have been a great many times when you saw your own prejudices against women at fault and yet you never once cared to correct them. In fact, you always held on to each one. I have always put that down as one of your queer traits and not thought more of it, but there is more to it, is there not?”

 

I laid on a pitying smile for him. It had so often aided me in throwing him off a scent, though I could not claim this to be as noble a time as some others had been. “Oh, Watson, you are making a big matter out of a little thing. There is no larger meaning to it. I must readily confess, that I am not without fault myself. I am often not in the best of habits and my character is rotten in many places–“

 

“You do not have to say anything of which you don't wish anyone to know, Holmes. I have done my part in this equation, I shall not force you into any open confessions.” After that sentence, there was a pause, one in which I feared we were frozen. I could hear my heart pounding in the very top of my skull and I knew that colour must have drained from my face. “I only wish you to know that you needn't fear betrayal of your trust from me. I have no reason to value your companionship any less or to reduce the quality and quantity of my affections toward you.” His words were as gentle as they were strong. First, I could not keep looking at him.

 

Then, I could not even stay sitting across from him. My excitement forced me onto my legs and I paced for a minute or two. Never had I allowed myself to trust a man like I did my dear Watson and yet there were things strangers knew that I had never dared to tell him. In this one moment, it felt like I had betrayed his trust, but I knew it was a mere fancy of mine. He understood why I had kept it a secret. It was not because I did not trust him. It was out of pure fear. “You are correct.” I finally found the courage to admit. I still dared not to set my eyes upon him, scared that I may reveal more than I intended, but I could sense his own body humming with anticipation, the confirmation to his theory so close to his grasp. But he said nothing. He waited for me to share my part and I was and am grateful for that. I would scoff time and again at my own hesitation and how I took a breath for several seconds before uttering the sentence, “I am a homosexual.” At once, my attention was drawn back to the face of the man who had given me room to admit this. I felt a strange kind of relief, especially as I saw that his face carried no judgement.

 

“My dear old fellow,” he addressed me and it was the softest sound I had heard until that minute, “I am glad you felt yourself ready to tell me this.”

 

“You will not tell?”

 

“Not to a soul! I myself think our law and justice system gets a great many things quite right. However, I have always disagreed with the way it defines and limits love.” It is hardly worth mentioning that in this moment I realised I was not the only one to keep secrets of such gravity and it made me feel more understood and close to him than ever before. I may sound like a young girl who has received her first compliment from a dashing gentleman in that moment, but when I think back to that dashing gentleman standing in front of me, I cannot find it in my heart to care. “Now, I enjoy a woman's beauty, I have loved my fair share of them in my years. However, I can also not deny the elegance in a strong, masculine jawline or lean body.” He looked at me with all the confidence and ease of mind that I could never find from my youth into my adulthood on the matter. Without making any assumptions about my friend's upbringing, I, for my part, have never openly denied or confirmed any assumptions directed at my preferences, in the silent fear that I may be found out. Meanwhile, this man presents himself a soldier through and through. He made me realise, once more, where my attraction towards him originated from, from where it drew it's strength and what kept it so strong and alive.  
  
Excitedly, I sat back down, on the edge of the seat, leaning forward. My body was humming with the anxious need to further confess and address. I had no doubt, if ever I was certain of a circumstance, that he knew like I did, that we shared these emotions for one another. “In light of this revelation, perhaps I should come forth with another confession.”  
  
I had my breath ready to carry my further sentiments, but he cut me short. “I think,” he interrupted gently, now averting his gaze briefly, “that two confessions in a day are quite sufficient. Let us enjoy the freedom they have created for today and consider further matters for future discussion.”  
  
Disheartened, I drew back into my chair, but his kind tone sat with me and spiked my rationality to emerge once more over the sentiments that had had a grip on me the last few minutes. “Quite right. We would hardly want to let the emotions of these moments to guide our actions with the promise of euphoria. So often has it mislead good people into hasty mistakes.”  
I gathered the rest of my thoughts as he nodded and began his return back into the columns of his papers. “Before the topic is fully dropped however, I wish to thank you.”

 

“You are quite welcome, Holmes.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I suck at writing intercourse, I know. But to me it's about the emotions anyway, so *shrug*
> 
> Hope you'll stay with me as we explore this story further and dive into other ones down the road... eventually :D
> 
> (I have no Beta. If you find mistakes, kindly point them out to me!)  
> ((I'm doing my best imitating something of a Victorian writing style.. be gentle on my soul, but do teach me if you can :P))


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